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 May 2013 Lost Cause
H
Stranger
 May 2013 Lost Cause
H
I'm a stranger in my own house
And there's nowhere to go.
Surrounded by familiar faces
But no arms to call home.

No where to seek comfort
When the rain starts to pour.
No arms to run into
When the monsters knock on the door.

It's a funny thing.
But it's not funny at all.
How far away everybody seems
Even when they're just down the hall.

I've taken what I feel
And locked it up tight.
Now I smile when I'm sad
To hide my own plight.

The only reminder that none of it's not real

Is the heaviness in my heart from wounds that won't heal.
 Mar 2013 Lost Cause
liv hart
x
 Mar 2013 Lost Cause
Tonya Cusick
Soft is the tone of your mellow heartbeat,
electric is the feeling when our lips meet.
manipulating are your illuminating eyes stripping me of all my control and will power.
Seductive you are, this time, this hour.
The silent ballet of your moans play through my ears like a first string quartet,
I can't fight it,.. the thoughts in my head,..
this is what resulted me in your bed.
You have toyed with me for the last time.
I'm letting it all out,
I'm trying to unwind.
Both bodies adrenaline beating in unison,
both bodies still in motion with the wants, the need of a ****.
To feel close again,..
But after.. I'm A
                              L
                               ­     O
                                              N
                                                                ­      E... AGAIN
The lust you portray is no greater than your desire,
The power I feel of your red lustful fire.
I know I feel you, I can feel your warmth.
I know your here, so please don't torment.
My small,
innocent,
heart.
You lay your body across mine,
both of us vulnerable,
skin to skin.
this is it..
****** me.
Your hands, I can feel them,
Your chest also heaving against mine,
back and forth we commit the lustful and desirable sin.
I've had my fulfillment,
my satisfaction.
I've been seduced by your bewildering attraction.
Now it's my turn to make you feel alive.
 Mar 2013 Lost Cause
Ghazal
His situation was dire.
Despite having taken shelter
Inside that ring of fire,
Fuelled with whiskey and ****,
And ****** with flesh,

She still held in her beautiful hands
The end of the rope around his neck.

Stepping into, and out of the flames
With unbelievable, unnatural ease,
She would tighten and loosen
That noose of her deadly love,
As and when she pleased.
For Hank Moody (Californication).
Fear is the grey
That clogs over
Your eyes…
Blurred vision
And hazed outlook
Shall be served cold
Over your tray
Fermenting effort
Keeping away
Any sign of achievement!
And when you will
Want to jump over
A precipice
Your heel shall be locked
Anchoring your ankle
Making a statuette
Of your able stature

Fear is the grey
That magnifies the cloud
You shall not see
The bright line
For such shall be
The film covering your eyes
Flimsy and yet so blind!
And then you will
Stumble into a loop
Of never ending failure
The ring of ripple
Just getting larger!

Fear is the grey
Dampening the bright blue sky
For it shall decay
The season’s morale!
Signing the loser’s epitaph

Unbind your fears
For there lies the beginning
With every step
The mountain seems plainer
Underneath your shoes
You shall certainly find
Unbridled success!
Crackle
Flames
Small and yellow
Flare up from reddish orange embers
Of what I thought was a dying fire
I curl up close
And its warmth washes over me
Like the sun on sweet spring day
 Jan 2013 Lost Cause
Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
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